


In the morning you always come back

by unhookingstarswithoutpermission



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, I Don't Even Know, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 11:56:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4178931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unhookingstarswithoutpermission/pseuds/unhookingstarswithoutpermission
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is asleep and Grantaire can't help but admire him. (or in other words, fangirl over him)</p><p>
  <i>It was everything an artist could wish for – he had his muse by his side, he was the happiest he'd ever been. He brushed his thumb on Enjolras' right cheekbone, softly. Even in his sleep he was so handsome, he looked like he was carved out of the finest marble. There was something that spoke of light and strength in his features, something Grantaire worshiped and almost envied. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the morning you always come back

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, I don't know what to say. This story is definitely an AU, and it's inspired by Cesare Pavese's "In the morning you always come back".  
> I'm sorry for my mistakes, but I'm Italian and I really am trying to get better at writing. The poem's translation is at the end of the chapter...  
> Enjoy!

_Lo spiraglio dell'alba_  
_respira con la tua bocca_  
_in fondo alle vie vuote._  
_Luce grigia i tuoi occhi,_  
_dolci gocce dell'alba_  
_sulle colline scure._  
_Il tuo passo e il tuo fiato_  
_come il vento dell'alba_  
_sommergono le case._  
_La città rabbrividisce,_  
_odorano le pietre_  
_sei la vita, il risveglio._

Enjolras was the most beautiful sight Grantaire's eyes had ever landed on.  
He truly was. Grantaire used to go through pictures of Greek and Roman's statues, and he admired them so much – he loved perfection. His art was not perfect at all: it was messy and dark, just like him, and he accepted it. It was his, after all. But Grantaire couldn't help being astonished by perfection. It was what had drawn his eyes to Enjolras in first place – the first time he saw him, strong jaw and freckles and all, he immediately reminded Grantaire of the perfection in Greek's art.  
Right now, he was standing just beside him. Enjolras was curled up against his chest, searching for the warm and safe place that only Grantaire's embrace was. The other man had been awake for almost half an hour, but he didn't want to disturb Enjolras' sleep, so he stayed as still and quiet as he could. They were in his bedroom, and Grantaire let his eyes wander past the window's glass, on the empty streets of Paris. It was barely dawn and here was he, incapable of sleeping, far too lost in the way the soft light glowed on Enjolras' skin to think of anything else.  
It was everything an artist could wish for – he had his muse by his side, he was the happiest he'd ever been. He brushed his thumb on Enjolras' right cheekbone, softly. Even in his sleep he was so handsome, he looked like he was carved out of the finest marble. There was something that spoke of light and strength in his features, something Grantaire worshiped and almost envied.  
Enjolras was not only similar to Apollo, he was just as beautiful as all the other Greek gods. There was something of Aphrodite in him, in his locks, in his fair skin, in the way his lips slightly parted when he was asleep. Grantaire tightened his grip on him unconsciously, and when he felt Enjolras humming slightly it was already too late. 

_Stella sperduta_  
_nella luce dell'alba,_  
_cigolio della brezza,_  
_tepore, respiro_  
_è finita la notte._

“Morning, 'Taire” Enjolras whispered, his voice still raw from the night of sleep. He turned around and hided his face in the crack between Graintare's shoulder and neck, trying to go back to the warm cocoon he was into. Grantaire just kissed his neck and smiled against it.  
“Wait, what hour is it? I need to go to-” Grantaire huffed against Enjolras' hair.  
“It's Sunday, Enj. We have the morning off, don't you remember?”  
Enjolras relaxed into his arms again “Oh, it's true. So I guess I can go back to sleep, then.” Grantaire started to laugh and the other man giggled – like, actually giggled – and nuzzled closer.  
“Were you staring again, 'Taire?” asked Enjolras then. His words were muffled by Grantaire's skin, but the warmness and the fondness in them could easily be heard.  
“I never stare, _Apollo_. And if you want to know the truth,” he went on, smirking. “I was just watching Paris, you know, I was searching for the reason you love France more than me.” he heard an annoyed whine coming from Enjolras, but he couldn't care less. He was having a lot of fun, in full earnest. “I can't find any, though.”  
Enjolras took a deep breath and just rolled on his side of the bed. “Okay, I'm out.” he said, sternly. He managed to get a foot on the floor before one of Grantaire's strong hands reached out for his arm and pushed him back.  
Then, it was Enjolras' turn to look at him – and he did, of course he did. Grantaire was sprawled out on their bed, an arm under his head, the other one – the one that gripped Enjolras' – just resting on the other pillow. His hair was ruffled, locks falling messily on his forehead, and his dark skin seemed to glow. He was smirking, looking up at him with his green eyes wide under his eyelashes. Enjolras wanted to climb on him and press kisses all over his chest, but instead he turned his head away. “Apologize, or I swear I'm going to go away” he said, smiling briefly.  
“Not going to” Grantaire stated. “And you won't go anywhere. You can't resist a morning in our bed, you never do”.  
“It's just because I'm tired.” Enjolras said, before lying down again.  
“Yeah, we all believe you” the other man said, rolling his eyes.  
“We?”  
“Royal we, Enj. Do your researches.” Enjolras laughed, and Grantaire leaned into him. “Are you still tired if I do this?” he spoke again, then he took Enjolras' face into his hands and pressed a feather-soft kiss on his lips.  
“I might not be so tired, after all” he replied, locking his hands in Grantaire's dark hair. 

_Sei la luce e il mattino._

After some time, they were both lying on their back, spent, their fingers intertwined. Grantaire's breathing was still evening out and Enjolras pushed back his sweaty golden hair. He turned around, facing Grantaire. Dead serious, he said: “I love you, you know?”  
Grantaire grinned, amused by the seriousness in Enjolras' expression. His grin turned into a soft, loving smile when he reached out and stroked his cheek. “I do, Enj. And I love you, too.”

 

 

"In the morning you always come back"  
The glimpse of dawn  
breathes with your mouth  
in the back of empty streets.  
Grey light are your eyes,  
sweet drops of dawn  
on the dark hills.  
Your step and your breath  
like the wind of dawn  
they submerge the houses.  
The city shivers,  
the stones smell -  
you are life, the awaken. 

A lost star  
in the light of dawn,  
the creak of the breeze,  
warm, breath -  
night has ended. 

You are the light and the morning.


End file.
